


Monsters We Make

by Poemsingreenink



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Movie, Witch Trials, or post movie everyone lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: The last thing Billy saw before the water closed over his head was the town preacher landing a hard punch to Goodnight's stomach.





	

Billy knew that the town of Mars, Illinois was going to be trouble the moment Goodnight introduced himself to the bar maid, and got a pitcher of beer dumped over his head. It was common enough for the locals to hate _him_ on sight, but Goodnight receiving the cold shoulder was different. As it turned out, Goodnight Robicheaux was as much of a legend in the north as he was in the south, but the trouble was that in the north the Angel of Death was the monster that had taken the lives of their sons, uncles, fathers and brothers. It presented them with a new and interesting set of problems.

It wasn’t that Billy couldn’t see their point, but war was a messy business and he’d made his bed with Goodnight years ago. Besides, an angry town in the north looked an awful lot like an angry town in the south from Billy’s perspective.

What bothered him was the way Goodnight sank into the role of monster like it was a hot bath. Gone were the fake smiles and stiff shoulders replaced with a high chin, and the ability to meet the eyes of folks who spat at his approach. He was so much more at home around a population who’d gladly of put his guts across the ground than he was with men who slapped him on the back and whispered his name with awe. They’d walked right into a place that treated Goodnight with all the respect he truly believed he deserved. Which was to say none at all.

Billy could see the anticipation that surfaced in Goodnight’s eyes with every new hissed remark. The humming wait of a man who was so sure he was about to be laid low for crimes he’d fully admit to. The trouble was that when the town had finally come knocking it had walked right past Goodnight, and grabbed hold of Billy.  

 

* * *

 

 

The last thing Billy saw before the water closed over his head was the town preacher landing a hard punch to Goodnight's stomach.

It was a worrying sight. Goodnight could hold his own in a fist fight, but getting into a bare-knuckle brawl with the locals wasn't part of their escape plan. If Goodnight wasn't waiting on the other side of the lake with their horses then Billy was going to have to circle back and save him after he'd saved _himself_ from drowning, and that just sounded exhausting.

But first things first, he had ropes to deal with.

The townsfolk, jumpy little population, hadn't been entirely satisfied with just locking him behind iron bars after their hysterical accusations, and as uncomfortable as a night with his hands yanked behind his back had been there had been a silver lining. In the hours before dawn he'd had plenty of time to shred his wrists and slick up the ropes.

Billy flexed his muscles as he sank into the lake, and tugged hard on the bindings. He was about to break his thumb to move the whole process along with they finally gave. Hands free he fumbled for his hairpin, and sliced through the ropes around his ankles.

The water was cold, and his limbs stiffened as he swam towards the thin sunlight. He sucked in an accidental mouthful of water when he surfaced, and coughed so hard that black spots danced in front of his eyes.

"He's floating! He's _guilty_!" shrieked a voice from the shore.

"Witch! Guilty! Witch!"

"Shoot him! Shoot the spawn of the devil! We have seen his familiar, and know the truth!"

Billy wondered if it was just this town or the entire state of Illinois where the act of befriending a stray black cat could get you labeled 'spawn of the devil.' The little thing had started skulking around his knife fights, sitting atop fence posts and running lightening quick between Billy’s legs after the dust settled. Maybe he shouldn’t have given it all those ear scratches. Maybe he shouldn’t have fed it. Maybe he shouldn’t have even looked at it, but by the time he realized that his interaction with the animal had caused the local chatter to shift from the injustice of Goodnight Robicheaux’s existence to the devilry of Billy Rocks it was too late.

Billy flipped to his back, feet kicking and arms flapping under the water. He strained his neck to get a look at the shore, and saw Goodnight slam the butt of his rifle into the temple of one man and then swing away at another. That gave his spirits a boost, but there was the much larger problem in the shape of several guns taking aim at Billy's head.

He dove again, and swam hard for shore. His boots were weighing him down so he kicked them off leaving them to fill and sink. The water around him rippled as a bullet crashed through the surface, and now he really hoped Goodnight could get their plan back on track. If Billy had to circle back there was no way around it, but returning sans boots with a bullet in his leg was going to be a pain in the ass.

Long tendrils of seaweed bushed his legs and belly as he swam, and when he almost gave in and swallowed a lung-full of water he kicked for the surface again. The crack of the gun had him ducking right back under, but this time there wasn’t far to go. He felt sand under his feet, and Billy stumbling up the shore when someone grabbed a handful of his shirt, and dragged him into the trees.

"Did those sons of bitches take your _boots_?" Goodnight growled.

Billy’s teeth were chattering too hard to answer. He pulled his wet hair away from his face, and tried to pin it back up with limited success.

An icy wind plucked at his wet clothes as he mounted his horse. The autumn trees the animals were waiting under were dressed in gowns of ruby and gold, and the colors hid the two men as they raced away. They were lucky. A few more days and there would have been no cover, just a forest full of gray barked skeletons.

 

* * *

 

 

The fire popped, and an ember landed on Billy’s toe. He flicked the glowing spark off of his skin, but didn’t move away from the warmth. His clothes were on the other side, drying across the stone floor of the cave they’d ridden the entire day to reach. He’d have to do something about the boots tomorrow.

“If you’d wait,” Billy called over his shoulder. “I could help.”

“If you really want to mess with the horses when you don’t have a stitch on you’re welcome to do so,” Goodnight’s voice echoed. “But just a reminder; Chance bites and Stormy don’t like you.”

Billy pulled the blanket he was wrapped in closer to his body. “I’ll hunt for breakfast then.”

“Whatever you want. You know all I care for is your happiness.”

Billy rolled his eyes, and reached for another stick to feed to the fire. A howling screech made him leap to his feet, stick in hand, and he almost ran toward the cave entrance when a little black shadow streaked through the cave.

“God damn it! Little bastard scratched me!”

Goodnight walked in with the bag holding their medical supplies thrown over one shoulder. He was sucking at a spot on his hand, red blood dripping between his fingers.

“Guess I’ll be patching both of us up tonight,” he muttered.

Billy tossed the stick onto the fire, and peered into the shadows. A pair of yellow-green eyes peered right back at him.

“What is that?”

“Oh.” Goodnight dropped the bag and sat. Sheepishly he shrugged, and then motioned for Billy to join him. “Well, they were planning on barbecuing your little friend. I know how much of a shine you take to cats so I rescued her. She did not appreciate the travel conditions.”

There was a low yowl from across the cave, and the small black cat cautiously approached with perked ears.

“I don’t ‘take a shine’ to cats,” Billy argued.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Goodnight agreed. He took Billy’s hands into his own, and inspected the dried blood that caked each wrist. “It’s more like they take a shine to you. Remember that fat orange tom that followed you around Volcano Valley for an entire week? He brought you that dead mouse. What a gentleman.”

The left wrist cleaned and wrapped, Goodnight gave Billy’s fingers a squeeze and reached for his right.

“You’re ridiculous,” Billy said.

The shadows along the cave wall stretched and flickered. One in particular trotted around the fire until it could head-butt Billy on the arm with a happy _merp_.  

"Billy," Goodnight said, eyeing the cat. "If you were a witch you'd tell your beloved Goodnight, right?"

"If I was a witch do you think I’d have let a maniac preacher throw me into a lake?"

“Who am I to name all of your passions?” Hurts tended to, Goodnight was relocating himself. He spread his legs apart and pulled until Billy’s back was against his chest. “Remember the time I discovered you enjoyed pecan pie? The worst pie mankind was ever cursed with? It upended my whole world."

“I’m not a witch, Goodnight.”

“You could be if you wanted to,” Goodnight said. He offered Billy a strip of hard jerky that Billy gratefully accepted. “I wouldn’t care. They could have caught you dancing naked with Satan himself under a full moon, and I would still count myself lucky to have you.”

"The only one I dance naked with is you," Billy said, chewing.

"Well, then you're not far off," Goodnight said, sounding tired. "Those people-"

"Tried to drown me," Billy interjected before Goodnight could really start wallowing.

"Yes, but those northern folk had every right to hate me."

"They did," Billy agreed. He stretched his hands forward, the firelight’s warm glow staining his palms. "Every right, but they didn't say you were in league with a demon for petting a cat. They picked me for that. You might be a monster to them, but at least you’re a monster who regrets. The only thing those people regret is not setting me on fire when they had the chance. Even I didn't have a plan for avoiding fire."

The cat went up on its hind legs looking far too interested in Billy’s dinner. When Billy ignored her, she dropped to the floor and began to wash her paws.

"Are you suggesting that we had a plan at all?" Goodnight said "What plan did we have? I saw you jerk your head to the side when they dragged you onto the pier. I hoped 'meet me on the other side' was what you meant. You're calling that a plan?"

"You understood what I wanted," Billy said. "So, yes."

Goodnight propped his head on Billy's shoulder, and huffed.

“It all worked out,” Billy said, patting Goodnight’s arm. “You worry too much.”

" _Mon cher_ , you have a very peculiar way of viewing the world."

Billy tucked his hands back under the blanket. "I prefer my view to yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This would have been a really fitting Halloween fic, but I didn’t have the idea until November 1st when I was making Billy Rocks head-cannons. So here’s my extended late Halloween head-cannon fic. Also, as far as I know there is no town of Mars, IL.
> 
> Author’s Note 2: Witch trials. They’re bad and really weird. No cats were harmed in the making of this fic.


End file.
